Name
by Megan Faye
Summary: First of hopefully many little ficlets! The Doctor needs a name.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Name  
Author: Megan Faye  
Rated: PG  
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who

Author's Note: My first Doctor Who fic. This is the first in a series of little one-shots. The reason for them being short little fictions is a 2 and a half year old boy, and a 30 year old husband who both thrive on attention, cooking, and clean boxers.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Tea?" Rose asked gently. The doctor opened his eyes and coughed hard. Rose kissed his forehead. "Fever's lower. 900 years, and this is your first cold."

"I've never been human before," he pouted. It had been a year, an entire year without the TARDIS, with only one heart beating, and The Doctor was happier than he'd ever been.

"Its got honey and ginger." He sat up and accepted the cup. "What's all the paper work in the office about?"

"Rose," he started, voice rough as another cough raked through his chest. "After 900 years of space and time, beginnings and endings of worlds, I'm done. I'm ready to live a quiet, alien-free, world crisis-free life. Torchwood is running on its own, properly, with liaisons and diplomats. We need to retire, and just exist together."

"That sounds wonderful." Rose snuggled into the bed with him. "But it doesn't answer my question."

"I'm still very clever, as it turns out. I'm going to teach physics. There's a small private academy in need of a good teacher, and I needed to come up with the proper paper work." Rose smiled as he took his last sip or tea, and set the cup down on the side table. He relaxed back into the warmth of their bed and allowed her onto his bare chest. "There are two problems, that I need a solution for."

"All right."

"I need a name."

"First or last?"

"First. I've got the last name well picked."

"Tyler?" she suggested, with a smile. "You look like a Tyler."

"Nope. Won't work." He pulled something from under his pillow. "I was hoping that Tyler could be my last name, and I can't very well run around with the name Tyler Tyler, now can I?" he said, opening a ring box. "That is my second problem. You have to say yes." He met her eyes with a lop-sided grin. It started to fade when he saw tears welling. "Rose, love-"

"Yes, of course," she squealed as she launched himself into his arms. Despite the fever, cough, slightly runny nose, and the smell of a man who hadn't showered in 2 days, she kissed him deeply.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Clever  
Author's Note: This os connected to Name.

It was finally over. He was human, in a parallel universe with no TARDIS, no psychic paper, and no time travels. The doctor was just a man, living with his wife and her parents. The idea was a little humiliating, to say the least! To add to his embarrassment, he, the once-magnificent Time Lord, was a school teacher and a very small private school. Physics. Surrounded by overly emotional, overly critical (and rarely intelligent) teenagers.

It started out well. He taught more in the first week than most teachers taught in a year. The kids were excited, and very well engaged.

And then, as teenagers do, they got bored. They realized that their cool Dr. John Tyler was giving them more work than all the other teachers combined. He tested and pushed, hoping they would keep some excitement beyond the rugby field, but they were, sadly, teenagers. He, too, became bored.

He stared out at the kids, and put each face in a proper cubby in his mind; the clever one, front row, to the left, where he would be noticed, but not seem to be a suck up. The suck-up, front row, center. He was, unfortunately, quite dull. Between him and the clever one sat the one who would struggle the whole year, just for a C. To the right of the suck-up, was the one student that The Doctor actually liked; the one who ignored him, turned in the work, asked no questions, gave no answers, and never met his eye. She was easily his favorite student.

The second and third row, the first two on the right of each row, were the four rugby players. The last four seats were a mix of overly emotional, overly dramatic, overly hormonal and overly fed. They always took those four seats, but never the same one two days in a row.

"Pass up the tests," he grumped from behind his desk. The students knew the routine. As soon as the papers were on his desk, he glanced at the first one. "Reagan," he called, after looking over a particularly interesting paper. His favorite, the one who never so much as glanced at him looked up. "Really? You're Reagan?" She nodded and stepped up to his desk.

"My paper is correct. What do you want?"

"Oh, a bit of a snark. I like that. Class dismissed." The rest of the teenagers filed out of the room quickly, enjoying the extra time between class sessions. "Reagan, it is absolutely impossible that this paper is correct. This is theoretical. As in, not proven."

"It is now. Look at it." He studied it a moment longer. "Can I go now? I'd like to eat before my sack lunch gets pinched by Pugsly again." He frowned at the teasing name for the overly fed child, as he called him.

"Yes...go," he said, distractedly. "This is quite clever." Just as she got to the door. "Hold on, how do you know how to do this?"

"I'm clever." The doctor went back to the paper, and made a mental note to watch this particular student far more carefully.


End file.
